I Hate
by Tigerdust
Summary: The things I feel when you're around me. Janto meets despair and something else. No, I'm not anyone from the show, just a fan. At this point, multiverse with various pairings and completed!
1. Chapter 1

He couldn't wait anymore, abandoned by the sun. The violins started first, always the violins.

Ianto left his beat up old car on the side of that road and ran into the club, determined he would never see it again. For all that he was, Ianto was a steady and determined individual. At least, that's how it used to be.

Ianto had this sneaky suspicion that he was changing; leaving little bits of his soul scattered across the pages of a history he was no longer writing. Before Torchwood One, there had been control. He hadn't been spectacular at anything but hiding in the library and reading, but he had been in control of that.

Like his dad, he saw life in numbers. Like his mom, he saw things in sections. Organized and brilliant, that was Ianto Jones to a tee. Only, unlike what he remembered of his parents, the inside was a mess. The inside was pain, shifting and uncomfortably numb.

The lights hitting behind Ianto's head were turning blue. He was bathed in it; the color and intensity of his pain. He took a deep breath and looked out into the crowd. There he was. The man who had stolen his breath, and his life. A man so intent and unaware of anyone but himself that he drew all to him. A man from the future.

There had been many comments on the things Ianto could do. But this, this should have been his alone. A low drum beat began to play and Ianto grabbed onto his arm, sunk his fingers into his own flesh and let one tear began to trickle down his face. His normal impeccably placed hair was as disheveled as the mess of thoughts going on beneath his mind.

He had tried to explain it all to Jack earlier in the day. He had failed miserably at the one thing that might have saved his conscience.

"I hate the things I feel when you're around me." Ianto stared into the bottom of his coffee cup, willing it to fill again. He slumped down in his chair slightly, trying to become smaller.

"I've noticed. You're rather jumpy. Not hiding another Cyber woman, are we?" Jack's eyes were half filled with bemusement, hidden behind that a questioning glance.

"No, it's nothing like that. It's just that, I feel like you steal a part of me with your light." Jack cocked his head slightly as Ianto spoke.

"My light?" Jack allowed his eyebrows to furrow while he shifted in his chair, digesting the information, and staring intently into the younger pair of eyes. For Ianto to have all these overwhelming feelings was normal, at least from what Jack had witnessed, but the desire to express them made Jack pay more attention.

"You are so incredible. With the flirting, and the leading, and the sex, and the everything."

"The sex?"

"What I mean to say is..."

"Ianto, what's wrong? If you just close your eyes and say it real fast, maybe it won't hurt so much."

But he'd chickened out, bolted from the room as Jack's on again, off again flirter entered the room and caught his eye. Ianto loved working for Torchwood, the secrecy, the accomplishments, all of it. But that feeling, that feeling was all over. He turned to Emily, finishing her notes on the violin.

Space and time hung in the air and Ianto Jones reached into his vest pocket, seizing the tiny object. He turned his head slightly and a beautiful lower baritone note began to descend on Jack's ears. This song was for him and him alone.

_I'd give anything not to feel again_

_Not to want your arms or smile_

_But that can't be_

Jaime was there beside him, playing an acoustic guitar, lending a falsetto twang to Ianto's lyrics. Jaime and Emily had promised to take Ianto with them.

_No happily ever after_

_No sunsets in the west_

_When your hand caresses my skin_

No one knew.

_I haven't asked for things_

_I feel cursed from within_

_For loving something so far_

_Yet so deep within_

No one had ever bothered or thought to ask.

_My heart never gets the chance_

_To stabilize or rest_

_My fondest wish to be away_

_But I'll never get that chance_

No one had gone through the alcoholism, the verbal abuse, the subjugation that he had undergone.

_Because I need you endlessly_

_Through night and bitter day_

_If only I could believe, have the strength to say_

Except for Xander Harris. Xander Harris was waiting for him, near the door. Xander noticed the look passing between the two. The great tragedy of the immortal and the beloved servant, coming to an end.

_I haven't asked for things like this_

_I feel cursed from within_

_For loving something so far_

_Yet so deep within me_

All is silver glass, and the ships are passing into the west. Xander remembered three years ago, when he had proposed to Angel. Proposed a bonding ritual Angel couldn't have fulfilled even if he had wanted. Simply because he wasn't the right one.

_If you ever go, I'll never survive_

_But yet I know _

_I don't hold that power_

Ianto's hand shook as he took the nearby glass of water.

_How can it be?_

_How will I survive_

_Even for that hour_

Only too late did Jack Harkness realize that Ianto Jones had just swallowed a long-term amnesia pill.


	2. Chapter 2

Shards of sound hit his ears. The television blared in the background as the bed underneath him squeaked. Tobias Beecher, ex-con and resident maintenance man of the Motel 8, peeked out the threadbare curtains of his grubby little room. The glowing clock across the way chimed out at 10:18, letting he know he was living for that next day, he supposed. Not that he said or did much to combat it, one way or the other.

Every night, he thought of poison. The same dream hit his eyelids. He hid from Morpheus, hid from the things he remembered, because he didn't forget. His photogenic memory wouldn't allow such frivolities.

He remembered every mole, every wrinkle Keller possessed. He remembered every snippet of conversation, the feeling of his rival's blood at the mark in the play. The despair and the mind games; he remembered every second in the midnight concertos of pain and pleasure hosted by the demon.

The demon with the lightest blue eyes, most piercing blue eyes, you've ever seen. He had worshiped Chris Keller. Loved, hated, admired, loathed, accepted Chris Keller. He had tried to help him, give him wisdom, a saving grace. Some people were just bad, Tobias supposed. He wondered why he had fallen for just that one bad one.

The craving for a cigarette hit. Or, maybe it was just the craving to get away. He cracked his knuckle and then his wrist. He arose and grabbed a greasy over shirt to match his tank top. Toby pushed some cold water through his hair, but all he could see in the mirror was a reflection of the man he once was.

He knew all the psychological terms. He'd been to enough psychiatrists, trying to rid himself of the ghosts and the evidence of dirty pain. Tobias wondered if this is what rehab felt like, always wondering if you put the needle under your skin one too many times. He didn't know. That did bring an odd sort of comfort, in some case.

He walked through the half-abandoned parking lot in ripped jeans and dirty shirts; stopping just briefly to check for smokes. Toby looked over his shoulder and shrugged at his closed door, unsure as to whether he'd be coming back this time. He twirled an unlit cigarette between his fingers, an odd sort of habit.

He mounted his steel steed and went forth, bruising the twisting coastline of asphalt and harsh lamplight. He breathed into the night as if it were one big cigarette and then he removed his helmet, hearing the satisfying, cascading crunch behind him. The wind blew through his hair and he closed his eyes just long enough to know he was alive.

The water of his own tears stung and surprised him. He did stop on the shoulder, looking into the water as it churned. Tobias craned his neck, examining the rock and thinking about a passage he had heard once in prison church. Something about a millstone and a cliff, if he remembered correctly. He could have, he just chose not to.

A sound came over the horizon. The form of a bugle call, an old horn and even older lights. A man drove up on a moped. He was slim, hair as dark as evening. He stood straight and tall, an honest sort of figure. In his hand was an envelope. He handed it over and nodded as he rode away in the opposite direction.

_I Need You._

Three simple words, causing Tobias the urge to scoff. Who was it that could ever need him?

A second horn came riding through. Two passengers stepped out of the battered Jeep. Both were young, one had an eye patch and the other wore a well-tailored button-down shirt and vest.

"You got a smoke?"

"You don't smoke."

"You could tell."

"No smoker's fingers, good breathing. Also, the fact we're cliff side at 10: 30 at night."

"We sent you the letter." The tailored man spoke.

"Did you think I was going to jump?"

"Yes."

"Perceptive."

"We do need you, Tobias. We're willing to give you a place, food, compensation."

"You don't have the right kind of compensation for me. I want food, I steal it. I want a job, I get it, normally no questions asked."

Xander Harris looked back at Ianto Jones and laughed. "I like this guy. He's honest."

Ianto piped in. "It's because of him isn't it? You hated the way you felt when you were with him. You want to forget? I can give you that. But first you make me, us a deal."

"Unless you have a magic pill..." Xander produced something from his jean pocket.

"There's no magic to this. But you can forget him. All we are asking is to let us give you something to remember."

"What are your names?"

"I'm Xander. This is my associate, Ianto Jones." Ianto waved briefly and then went back to leaning on the Black Wrangler.

"Is it worth it?"

"I can't tell you if it is or not. What's life without a little risk?"

Tobias shrugged. Xander had a point.

"Got room for my bike in the back?"

"You won't need it where we're going."

"Right." Tobias dismounted and then set the gas on his chopper. Ianto winced briefly as he heard the crunch of the motorcycle hitting the water at 40 miles an hour.

"You've got style."

"Never leave evidence."

"Well, now I know we've made the right choice."


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey! Look out!" Greg Sanders just barely jumped out of the way of the rogue skateboarder in time. His arms flailed about, much like his long, blond hair. A Southern California surfer boy in Las Vegas. Greg just shook his head, unimpressed. The fact he had gotten out of the way anywhere near in time had been a miracle, what with his arms loaded down with so many books.

Greg stopped to tie his shoes near the big overturned flashlight on campus. As he balanced his foot on a nearby railing, he heard a familiar voice. "Sanders! What are you doing here?" His face went red slightly and then he allowed his emotions to rearrange as he lifted his head slowly from his shoe lace.

"Nick. I'm just here subbing as a TA for an old friend. And you?"

"Got a cousin that wanted to check out the campus. She said Texas just didn't fit her style anymore and she thought of her old Uncle Nick."

Greg snorted. Old uncle Nick. Nick wasn't that old looking, nor that half bad looking, for what it was worth.

"Say do you want to get a cup of coffee after I run Stacy to her freshman orientation sit-in?" Nick's mind and heart screamed yes, but his head defied all that. He shook it, not quite vigorously.

"I'm afraid I can't, Nicky. I've got to get back to the lab; night shift waits for no one."

"You don't let yourself get too cooped up in that lab, again. It took you forever to get out." Nick chuckled as he flashed a smile and walked away. Greg just shook his head again and sighed, finishing the job with his shoe.

Once upon a time, he would have followed Nick to any of the various coffee shops and food eateries around Vegas. Now, the very sight of him made Greg jumpy and slightly nauseous. It had been puppy love once, vague admiration, and stone gutting fear when he had been kidnapped. But with the splitting of the team and Nick's on-again, off-again relationship status; Greg willed himself to fall out of love. It wasn't as easy as being in it, that's for sure.

Greg sat in the back of AP Genetics, balancing a pencil off the end of his finger. What he was unaware of presently was the pair of binoculars focused intently on him.

"He's still in the classroom."

"Understood. Em, have you gotten that license yet?"

"Carter, I'm trying to observe here! _I'm working on it Ianto. Ask Jaime how much time we have left." _Em whispered into her comm link.

"Jaime..."

"I heard her boss. I just wish she'd learn that alien technology means we can do more than just talk to one person at a time."

"_Tell Jaime his head looks like the upturned cactus we're studying_."

"Ha Ha, Em. Ha ha."

"Okay, you two. Focus on the objective."

"_I've got it, Ianto_." Emily heard the whirring sound of a chair turning in her comm-link and keyboard letters clacking away.

"Alright, Em. Feed me that license, please."

"_Ianto, we've got Juliet Zulu Niner Juliet Alpha Tres. Sorry about that last one. I couldn't remember T_."

Ianto sighed. "Don't worry about it, we're over a secure connection."

"He's leaving the building."

"Jaime, I want you to trail him. Feed the coordinates to Xander. Project Greg goes into effect immediately."

"I wish we would have had better time to think of a project name."

Emily set off her own ring tone and waved off her botany class, and a very over-eager freshman named Carter, claiming her dad had called. She ran off towards her Buick, criss-crossing paths with Jaime in the midst of the mid-class chaos.

Greg whistled to himself as the Rolling Stones played some song about satisfaction on the radio. The sights of Vegas blurred as Greg sped toward work. He stopped at a Starbucks, only slowing down long enough to put some change in a ukulele case, where a man with dreadlocks was playing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow". The one thing you knew about Vegas, you were always guaranteed a show.

Greg's car broke down as he was passing Arizona Charlie's on Boulder Highway. He stopped into the local Circle K just long enough to get a mid-grade Slurpee and call Triple A. As Xander slunk from under Greg's car carrying a screwdriver dripped in oil, Greg was muttering to himself intensely and making the slight trek to the bus stop.

"You're out of breath." Gil's voice caught Greg as he finally got into work, right under the wire. His face was red from being out in the heat longer than necessary and entering the air-conditioned building so quickly.

"You're perceptive, Grissom."

"We thought you'd run late, glad you didn't."

"I...appreciate that?" Greg offered the phrase, doing his best to hold back the tide of abject sarcasm.

"Go check your desk. Latest case file. You're on it with Sarah."

"I hope she can drive. My car broke down earlier today."

"I'm sure that won't be a problem."

Sarah and Greg ended up in Summerlin. It seemed like a very routine case of assault turned wrong. The only problem was, that, for all the blood spatter and various available weaponry, including a glass table that had a bullet-hole in several parts, there was no body. Greg looked up at the sandstone with red tile house, a Summerlin classic, lined up and sandwiched in the glorified waiting room for God.

"Old people smell. Always like cats." Greg stood over a broken window, taking pictures of various smears and whatnot.

"Hey! I like cats. You'd best be careful, Greg."

"Why? You gonna sic your cats on me?"

"Take that tone of voice with me and I just might have to." His eyes flipped towards inside the broken pane, where Sarah was going through a jewelry box. She smiled, eyes plagued with amusement.

Sometime later, Greg had some interaction with Hodges. Apparently, the samples he took weren't quite human. A rare type of boar's blood was found at the scene. So, there was no body and apparently a pig involved.

"Boars are not just wild pigs, Greg. They are a dangerous species of herbivore. This South African species is the most rare and dangerous"

"You're going to tell me that one of those tusked pigs could take out a human?"

"Quite possibly."

"Don't suppose the boar just ate him?" Gil gave Sarah his annoyed over the spectacles look and she raised her hands in defense.

"I'm just saying."

"So, was this guy keeping Wilbur as a pet?"

"We don't know Nick. First, we have to find out how this guy got the boar."

Three phone calls later and Greg was speaking with a pet shop owner with a very thick Greek accent. "No, I can tell you we don't sell boars here. Me and my sons would never allow such a dangerous animal to be sold as a pet."

"Well, can you tell me of anyone who would sell boars?"

"No. We did have one man come in once and ask us if we sold boars. He left us a business card and I all but threw it away. Pets are respected creatures, Mr. Sanders. Selling a boar like that would be beneath its dignity."

Greg scratched his head and did some quick numbers. "May I come in and get that business card?"

"Of course. We also have some lovely puppies on sale if you wish to purchase one."

"I'll bear that in mind. Thank you Mr..."

"Lustairi. My name is Mr. Lustairi, and this is my daughter Patel and my two sons, Andero and Petri."

"I'm sorry it took me so long to get here, Mr. Lustairi."

"Please, there is nothing to be concerned about. If you can get any answers out of this boar person, then I am glad to be of assistance."

"Well, thank you very much. It was nice to meet you." Greg turned back towards the door and stopped it in mid-swing, halting the sound of the tiny bell at the top. "Did you know what he wanted the boar for?"

"I couldn't even begin to imagine Mr. Sanders."

Greg held the card in his hands, flipping one side to the next while standing outside of Remington Party Planners. The business card matched the outside of the store, striking pink ribbon cascading over the top of the bright blue logo. He could hear the receptionist even from the outside. She had a high-pitched voice. Her red hair was tied back in a severe bun and her fake fingernails clicked away while she chatted in her head set.

Another bell went off as Greg entered the shop and was ushered to a seat to wait for Renee's boss. When the phone call ended, he stepped up to Renee and announced his intentions.

"I need to see Ianto Jones."

Across town, Greg's humble car lay jacked up on slats in a greasy garage, nondescript gray tools and oil lay all around it. Tobias Beecher walked out of the office.

"I hope you washed your hands." Toby snorted at Xander.

"Like you always wash your hands after doing your dirty work?"

"You enjoy your work too much for it to be dirty."

"Touche."

Xander hadn't bothered to ask where Toby had found the place. It didn't matter much to him, just that Toby's connections got done what they needed to do. Over his shoulder, Xander could see the bald mechanic smiling through the slats of the office mini-blinds and zipping up his trousers.

"Help me with this."

"Why? It's not that heavy." Toby groaned a bit as he and Xander loaded a large canvas bag into the front seat of the car.

"And why did we have to do this now?"

Xander shrugged. "Can't afford for anything to go wrong. Besides, haste makes speed."

"Don't you mean, haste makes waste?"

"That's what I said."


	4. Chapter 4

Hope is a dangerous thing. Man, I wish I had said that. It's really quite brilliant. But I didn't. The writers of Shawshank Redemption did. That's what I'm watching. Or at least what my attention span was on while I flipped between that and episodes of Family Guy.

I'm not really much for Family Guy, or crude humor for that matter. It's stupid, but it's just background noise. I'm sitting here thinking. Dangerous stuff? I thought you might agree. I'm reclining and flipping this card through my hands. The cards proclaims the business of Remington Party Planners, owned by one Ianto Jones.

Ianto Jones doesn't seem like a bad guy. From the moment you meet him, he oozes honesty, incredible deportment, bordering on a dour butler, and vague notions of trust. I don't want to believe he had anything to do with the killing in Summerlin. But while he's honest, I also feel that he can be incredibly evasive. He won't talk about where he's from, where he lives, or even certain details of his free time. For him, he always brings it around to the planning job.

So, Greg Sanders, trusted field CSI sits here twirling a bothersome card through his fingers and thinking. Thinking about someone who could be the enemy. Some days, I wished I smoked. It would give me a chance to breathe.

The twirling thoughts of absence filled Ianto's mind as well. It had "washed up" on the shores of Lake Mead only twenty-four hours ago and it held a magnificent secret, sent shivers through Ianto's very core. He hadn't discussed it with Xander; just watched it under glass from the observation deck of their tricked-out cave in the Sierra Nevada mountains.

It seemed like an ordinary flute made of fine brass, but there was a connection no one understood. There was a vacuum in that object that seemed to Hoover the life from Ianto. He toyed with the notion of playing it. For the first time, he wished he had his memories. Every time he said that out loud, someone came along and assured him that he'd be happier not. Ianto hadn't mentioned it again.

"Keep staring and you'll burn out your eyeballs." Ianto hadn't noticed Toby entering the archway of the Main Room. He shrugged in reply. "I think you're lucky, Ianto, not knowing. Why so burdened?"

"It's a curse. What if I know what that thing is?"

"What good is an alien flute to a man with grander plans?"

"It has been," Ianto sighed, "in my grand experience that the tiniest escaped detail can be the one that destroys you the most."

"Don't tell that to Greg when you drop in on him."

"I'll only tell him what is necessary."

Ianto stood at the mirror, letting those words roll through his head again. He straightened his tie several times and raised his back, allowing a piece of spine to crack and make him groan a bit. He was sharp and witty with a great smile and even better fashion sense, but Ianto Jones was lonely and was missing something.

He had dreamed last night of the flute, of someone who could play it. His hair had been messy and dark, rich like a German chocolate cake. His body had been tan, as much as Ianto could remember of the groggy flashes. There had been a desk, he had been picking up a red coffee cup. The red stood out in the dream, he remembered. He sighed, trying not to glance at the artifact as he left the Cave for his day's plans.

Greg sat at his desk, his eyes hitting the number of tiles on his ceiling for the third time that morning. He was restless, in between test results, when he got the call from Gil. It wasn't a social call, never was with Gil. He was warned about having visitors in the office, something which sounded strange to him until he saw Ianto coming his way.

He gulped. Something about the way Ianto Jones moved made him doubt his own manhood, made him feel eclipsed. Ianto was sharp in dress and movements; clear with purpose and without any sense of objectivity. He had style that mixed well with the briefcase that swung in tandem with his stride. Greg imagined him coming off a runway with the theme from "Top Gun" playing around him.

"What a pleasant surprise, Mr. Jones. What can I do for you?" Greg rose and grabbed Ianto's hand. They took relaxed sitting positions and Ianto snapped the buttons from his briefcase, turning it in his lap so Greg could see it.

"I have information on the older gentleman from Summerlin who's party I threw. This is sensitive. You may want to back out; label it an accident."

Greg's attention was caught. "I can't do that."

Ianto went to shut the door. "Is this room bugged?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Let's find out, shall we?" Ianto took a slim black disc from the briefcase and set it down on the floor. A swift shot of green light shot over the room and the machine beeped green. "All clear, then."

"Mr. Jones, what is this all about?"

"The truth is something most men can't handle. But we've been watching you, Mr. Sanders, and think that we have use of your immeasurable skills."

"We?" Greg sighed; another nut job in sheep's clothing, most likely. "Who is this we?" He sat back in his chair, desperately not trying to re-evaluate his original diagnosis of Ianto Jones.

"We are the ARK project. I am the leader of this group. We are above the government, renegade if you will, and we hunt for justice for those who have none. You understand justice, Mr. Sanders?"

"Only when reading John Grisham. Go on, then, you have more to tell me."

Ianto sighed. "These briefings are classified, but we need your help. You have in your morgue three bodies right now, one burnt to a crisp. But we offer the other two bodies as proof. The evidence should be appearing in the next twelve hours."

Greg flipped through the packet of papers, catching the name of Maris Industries, whom he was aware of through their creation and mass packaging of things like Vicodin and Ritalin, at least in the public domain.

"And you are sure of this?"

"Do you think I would be here if I weren't?" Ianto slid a business card, the same type, over to Greg who lifted his eyebrow. "Go check the evidence. If it's not there, feel free to forget this conversation and consider me a loony. If not, you should know that UV light does wonders." Ianto closed his briefcase with a snap, jogging Greg from his stupor. Ianto rose and took his hand. "Good day, Greg. We'll be hearing from you soon."

He was confident, that confidence in his stride made all the difference as he bore back down the hallway, curious glances trailing a path between Greg's office and the exit doors. Greg snorted before he headed to the medical bay. He made the call to Ianto within half an hour.

"What are we doing here?"

"Plenty of time for questions after the tour!"

Ianto and Greg walked with a few Japanese tourists who snapped away pictures as the tour guide droned on about the history of the Hoover dam. Greg soon found himself engrossed as the tour was led down an elevator into the heart of the dam itself.

"The tour's over." Ianto took a pen from his pocket and tapped three varied spots next to the elevator. The door rushed open. "Coming in?"

Greg hesitated slightly, but joined Ianto. The elevator pulled backwards, the sound of rushing water all around them. Ianto could feel the nervous waves of energy. "Relax, alien hydraulic barrier. We call it the Rain Winder."

"And where is this Rain Winder going? Wait, alien technology?"

"Yep. The Rain Winder is the scenic route to the Cave."

"Not much scenic about it."

"No, but it's fun for scaring the new guy." The pair stopped with a lurch only Ianto was prepared for. The door dinged and open. "We'll be getting music installed next month, by the way."

Greg grabbed the proffered hand as he pulled himself forward into the Main Room. "Well that makes me feel so much better."

"It should."

"Greg Sanders, this is Xander Harris, my co-leader and strategist." Xander waved and he sat high above them, suspended and reading measurements through some black device that reminded Greg of a scuba mask. It was only when Xander's shouted "score!" about five minutes later that Greg realized he was just watching television.

"And our garbageman, Tobias Beecher." Toby grunted as he took Greg's hand into his own, sweaty from another workout.

"Sorry about that."

"Don't mention it." Greg's eyes followed Toby and he growled a bit on the inside. Oddly enough, Greg didn't mind that his palm was now sweaty too.

"That's everyone except for our two operatives which you'll only meet if chance employs it."

"And they are?"

"Em and Jaime; lovely pair of bohemian rock stars."

"I see." Greg tried to take this all as a normal bit of conversation, but he felt as though he was hovering on lunacy.

"Let's get down to business, shall we?" They were all gathered in a hexagonal conference room off to the side of the Main Room, photos of the victims posted on several televisions.

"You were right," Greg began, "the identifying green pinpricks showed up postmortem, but were easily wiped off. They contain trace elements of nicotine, pheromones, and trachiotytes, which I took to be extinct since before humans evolved."

"Yes, well, we'll get to the evolution part later. What we've noticed is that the undercover drug screening process for drug testing culls individuals straining against the powers of cigarette addiction. Maris Technologies offers them two injections a month which promises them an equal fix without the lung cancer."

Toby joined in. "The only problem is the various side effects of the injections. As far as we can tell, they are affected simply because of ..."

An alarm sounded.

"A breech." Xander's voice was gruff and he raced forward to his chair, which raised above the conference room. He punched a few keys to his left and the doors slid open again on the Rain Winder. No one seemed to exit.

The air was still, Greg eyed Ianto wearily, he hadn't been expecting this. Neither expected what happened next. The flute began to play and Ianto rose, walking towards it. The flute hovered and glowed under its own power. But it was more.

Greg thought Ianto murmured something.

"I'm sorry Ianto. Did you just say Chameleon Cloaking Exchange Device?! I'm not sure how much more of this I'm willing to go for."

The flute stopped and set itself back down. "You heard me correctly, Greg. I vaguely remember something being made of it."

"How about the Invisible Lift?" A voice rang out, a voice from nowhere. Ianto was still, his eyes scanning for any sense of something.

"How about the night Lisa killed your doctor friend? The day Gwen joined Torchwood? Or maybe the time before Mary? What about that Ianto Jones? Do you remember?"

"Torchwood." It was a chant. Xander watched Ianto. Tobias stood silent behind Greg and Ianto. Everyone waited for the Phantom to reveal more.

"No, I wouldn't expect you to remember. But no one ever forgets this."

There was a shock of warm breath. The cloaked alien was kissing Ianto, his face proved it. Ianto also seemed to be adequately stunned. "It's a shame you can't remember." The voice whispered deeply.

"Jack."


	5. Chapter 5

Xander shot his weapon into the empty space before a stunned Ianto. The bullet bounced away from the group, a shimmering figure beginning to appear.

"You!" Xander began to lower himself, anger etched across his lines.

Ianto's face gave away a very distinct look bordering somewhere between fear, insanity, and desire. "You. The one from my dream."

"I took a leaf from Suzie's book. Sorry, folks, didn't want to cause any harm." Jack hand's raised in defense and Xander shot back.

"You've done enough of that. Go back to Cardiff, Captain Harkness."

"I can't do that, Xander. I've got nothing to go back to."

"But Torchwood...your life...the Doctor..."

"I knew you'd remember. My kiss tends to do that. I left Torchwood. I couldn't face the empty echo without you."

Ianto pushed him away. "I wanted to forget."

"To forget what? How important you were? So you could play American spy and think you were a big shot?"

"You never understood! You wanted my body and my mind! Did you ever care about anything else?"

"How could you think that? I left because you deserted me. I had no reason to stay. I thought when I came back I made that clear to you."

"Your devotion is touching."

"I'm here to help."

"I'm pretty sure we don't want your help." Toby blinked with a sincere glare.

"You need to get in to that testing group. They've seen everyone in this group at least once. You want to save the world Ianto, you need me."

Greg raised his hand. "Excuse me, but what the hell is going on?!"

"Shall I explain?"

"Go ahead, Jack. Dominating conversations was always a trademark of yours. And we were about to tell him what we knew."

"Well I can fill in the rest. It seems Maris Technologies has gotten its hands on some alien pills that fell through the rift from the 50th century. Untested, dangerous, and potent. Now, with random test subject going through psychotic phases, they've upped testing to begin trying to counter that original dosage. And you're going to stop them, is my guess."

"You're correct, Jack. We brought Mr. Sanders in here to help us. We don't need you."

"He's not the right one for the job. You need me, Ianto."

"I don't need you." He began to walk away and Jack followed him to their room. Xander and Toby began discussing things with Greg, who was both baffled and bemused.

They could hear raised voices and muffled tears. They left for a drink.

"How dare you come back! I was happy!"

"Happy? How could you be happy without any idea who you were?"

"Or what I've been through. Your shadow, your intensity. I'm valuable here, Jack!"

"I never said otherwise."

"You never said either way. What is it you're looking for? An apology, an explanation?!"

"Both would be nice."

"You don't deserve them. Just walk away now."

"You won't let me."

"And why not."

"Because I'm going to kiss you again."

Three hours later, Ianto in nothing more than a bathrobe, scuttled around shutting lights down for the night and checking his messages. Greg was in for the project.

There were lots of comments as they suited up, most notably about black, form fitting, and comment Greg made about Batman that made Xander chuckle and Toby roll his eyes in the driver's seat of the SUV.

"We all know the plan then?"

"Destroy the place, make it look like ransacked industrial espionage and save a whole bunch of drug zombie lives?"

"Exactly."

"Does anyone have the theme to Night Fire?"

"You're not bloody James Bond, Jack."

"You look better in a suit. But that's not the point."

"Less fighting now. Jaime and Em are tracing. Their signals are coming through."

Xander clicked a few keys. "They are on level fourteen and rising in the restricted access elevator. They are stopping now. Level 24!"

Toby programmed his stylus and the backseats began to lift.

"You replicated a Chameleon Cloaking device for the backseat of your Jeep?"

"Didn't need to. Xander knows magick."

"Correction. I know someone who knows magick."

Greg shrugged. "As long as it works, right?"

The room was like any other in a medical lab. Thick trees of manila files lined walls and desks. Rows of cool, glowing shelves with particles of testing supplies lined the walls and various squirming cages sat next to expensive Japanese equipment, poised for testing.

"What are we looking for Greg?"

"Something that will scan under the UV light. Just like the card. And apparently Captain Jack."

Greg was waving the scope wand over Jack very slowly, noticing beads of sweat and pheromones rolling away.

"I'm flattered, Greg, but now is so not the time. Maybe afterwards though."

Ianto rolled his eyes and Greg blurted out a question. "Why are the UV scans picking up the same signature on you, Jack?"

"I'm from the future. Our race of humanity is immune to the particular strain effects of the pills that fell through. They were part of the water supply."

Greg scanned the room and pointed to various bottles that weren't placebo and they scuttled quietly down the hall through three separate rooms, destroying and making quiet havoc as they went by, Jack having a grand time.

"Espionage suiting you, then, Jack?"

"It's all about the outfit."

"Yes, well..."

A buzzer sounded in the distance.

"One room to go. Shit! We've been detected."

"Xander, get them out of here. I'm going after the last batch."

"You can't, Ianto! Who knows what they'll do to you!"

"There's no time to argue." His eyes set themselves to Xander and he glared back.

"Do what is necessary." Xander glared but began to walk backwards, grabbing Greg's arm and Jack's collar. Greg complied nervously, but Jack would not budge.

"We'll go down together, then."

"I can't have you doing this Jack. Risking your neck for me again?"

"It's my neck to risk."

Very well, Xander and Ianto sighed separately. Greg was already half-way back down the hall.

Jack and Ianto destroyed the final sterile room with precision, unflinching and not talking. The chasm of choice lay between them, motivating the silence. There was one vial left behind glass. They could hear the locked handle being jiggled, shouting and flashlights waving outside. Jack's hand began to heal from the wounds.

"All this trouble over a little blue bottle." Ianto held it in his hands, mesmerized.

Jack growled a warning.

As the door creaked beneath its hinges, Ianto smashed the bottle in his hands, glass and liquid seeping into his skin. He grimaced as his hand began to melt, stings and shivers filtering their way through his nerves.

"Ianto!"

"Go Jack!"

"I, I can't lose you again."

"You'll never lose me, Jack. You'll move on, out of necessity. Now go, go before they come in."

Jack stood there in shock and horror.

Ianto smiled weakly. "Saved the world again. Just another normal day."

"I never replaced you."

A smile plagued his lips before the rest of his began to waver and melt and seep into the linoleum on the floor. Jack had made him smile for the first time in however long.

Jaime and Emily stood behind the door with the police, smiling and congratulating themselves on having brought down the dangerous Torchwood employee 336, also known as Captain Jack Harkness and Torchwood employee 158, also known as Ianto Jones. Jaime finally had enough and kicked the door in. He found only a smashed window and a pile of goo with a handsome suit set in the sterile room, the last grim test administered.

Greg sat at his desk, having finished the file on the man from Summerlin. The death was unsolved and would remain unsolved. Greg didn't think about all that had happened. He had become a recluse and secretive, much like his mentor Gil. He sighed, his pen tapping his desk as Nick walked through the door.

"Hey. We haven't seen you around recently..."

"Not much to see." The reception was definitely blizzard status for Nick. Greg had decided this a long time ago.

"Want to talk about it?" He closed the door and sat, leaning back, unlike Ianto had the day he had visited the office.

"Suddenly taking interest?"

"That's not fair."

"I heard once someone said that about life."

"Man, what has crawled into your under carriage?"

Greg snarled. "You."

Nick was stunned. He had no response.

"So, there. Now you know. Obsession, lust, whatever you want to call it. But I'll be over it. Just leave me and I'll be over it."

Nick stood up. "Why?"

"Why? Why? Are you kidding, cowboy? You, the handsome flirting devil of the CSI Night shift? No thanks."

"Is that what's changed?"

"It doesn't matter." Greg's hands fluttered and dismissed the case, just like the file on his desk.

"I disagree with your conclusion, Mr. Sanders." He drew out Greg's name; a shudder moving through his spine. He sat on Greg's desk, inches away. Greg wanted to reach out, wanted so bad to not restrain himself.

"Don't sit on my desk." Nick let his legs swing forward.

"All you had to do was say what you needed to say." Greg felt Nick's hand massaging his palm. "Let's play hookey tonight."

Meanwhile, downstairs, an unidentified corpse with messy dark hair the same color as German chocolate cake was being carted out by a garbageman, never to be seen from again. Toby grunted. A life of secrets; that's all anything amounted to these days, wasn't it?


End file.
